


A Prize More Valuable Than Gold

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Series: Unplanned Nuptials [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Complete, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fun, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi A/U:  My hommage to all of those works out there where Sandor wins Sansa as some sort of prize. This will a heartwarming, smutty fic, where we all feel good watching our favorite two characters make the most out of a peculiar situation.





	1. A Prize More Valuable Than Gold

#  Chapter 1: A Prize More Valuable Than Gold

 

**Sandor**

 

He knelt on the soft dirt of the Tourney grounds in front of the dias thankfully several rows above him. Sandor Clegane’s only reprieve from the scorching sun of King’s Landing was the fact that he was allowed to remove his helmet while kneeling, its ferocious dog face tucked under his arm, sweat rolling down the back of his neck as he waited. Sandor was not a patient man, he never had been and he never would be, but he had been waiting a long time for this prize so some minutes more wouldn’t make a difference. Now he would finally get what he desired, what he would have never been given otherwise. This prize was never meant to be his, but being the opportunist he was, it had not taken him long to understand that winning this Tourney would change his life. He grinned to himself knowing his win had been unfavorable to some, and not giving a rat’s ass about it.

 

Sandor’s steel grey eyes were still downcast, but his senses were not dull to the increasing murmur of the crowd. A highborn woman had fainted as he had been announced the winner, he couldn’t have been sure if it was from his victory or the fact that he had sliced his Hedge Knight opponent nearly in half. Sandor smiled this time outright, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. The Hedge Knight’s blood still ran down his blade, the fresh smell of it still hung heavy in the air. Sandor enjoyed killing, he always had and knew he always would. It had not been good etiquette to kill his opponent, but he didn’t care. For this prize was more valuable than gold.

 

_ ‘Fuck etiquette,’  _ he thought to himself, unable to wipe the small grin from his downcast face. 

 

The knight had been skilled, no man would have said otherwise, but he was cocky and that was what Sandor had capitalized on. The knight had already felt like he had won the prize and had, as such, underestimated Sandor in his dented armor. His whole life Sandor had always been underestimated. Whether it be his intelligence or his prowess as a fighter, everyone had looked to his brother and never to him. Playing second to Gregor had afforded Sandor the time and space to practice, improve his skills while nobody was watching. He was a good fighter, of that there was no doubt, but just how good had only been put on display today, once it had been announced what the winner of the King’s Marriage Tournament would receive. Sandor’s muscles thrummed from use and his chest heaved from exhaustion, he knew he would be sore come morning, but it was worth it.

 

Sandor was doing his best to maintain his posture under his heavy suit of armor, it would do no good to have won Tourney like this and then fall over from heat exhaustion or sudden lack of strength. So he focused on the ground in front of him, eyeing the individual granules of dirt as they moved in the light breeze of a warm fall day, waiting for the King to grant him what he had a right to, what he had rightfully won.

 

“Well well, it seems that my Dog has bested every man in this tournament. I always pick the best.” King Joffrey’s words rang through the crowd, Sandor knew all eyes were on him as he spoke. He fought the feeling of discomfort, and kept his eyes downcast.

 

“It pains me Dog to have you leave my King’s Guard.” Sandor clenched at these words, knowing his anger would rise if his King refused him his spoils. “However, a deal is a deal.”

 

“I shall serve your Grace with even more loyalty.” Sandor said, still looking at the ground. It gave him comfort to look at the ground, not having to process the looks of the entire court and onlookers alike.

 

“You had better Dog.” The boy King spat, doing his best to sound fierce. “You can never say I am not anything but generous to those close to me.”

 

Sandor did his best not to fidget, his knee was killing him and the longer he stayed like this the harder it would be to get up. ‘ _ Just get this over with for fuck’s sake.’ _ He cursed.

 

“Get the Septon!” Joffrey yelled, his smirk casting a shadow across the crowd. 

 

When the Septon was brought to the dias, it was clear he was drunk. Sandor didn’t have to look up from his fixed place on the ground to hear the unsteady footsteps and smell the scent of alcohol wafting from dias to the tourney field to know the man was intoxicated. 

 

_ ‘It’s probably for the better.’ _ Sandor thought to himself as his glance shifted to Maester Pycelle.

 

No matter how drunk the Septon was, as long as the Maester recorded this moment it was as good as legal. Pycelle had his book out, a quill ready to scratch out the final information. Sandor held his breath. 

 

After a bit of finagling the Septon said a few incoherent words then, “...Sandor Clegane, do you take this maid Lady Sansa Stark as your wife in the eyes of the Seven?”

 

“Aye.” He said, still not able to look upon the dias. 

 

“And you Lady Sansa Stark, do you take Sandor Clegane as your husband in the eyes of the Seven?” 

 

“I do.” 

 

Sandor let out a breath he had not known he was holding. He watched Pycelle scribble the nuptials in the book and felt relief. It was done, finally he could breathe easy. The whole tournament he had been walking on eggshells, nervous for the bracket outcomes, though he did his best not to show it. Now, he could relax. Finally he shifted his gaze upon the dias, but did not see her there. She was gone, his prize whisked away to their quarters.

 

_ ‘She’s probably so upset she doesn't know what to do with herself.’ _ He mused, not surprised that she was not there. 

 

Highborn ladies were raised and bred differently from others, he would have to navigate this somehow. Even highborn marriages were not made for love, at least that part of it she should be prepared for. Sansa would not escape his grasp tonight, he would make her his wife in truth, not willing to lose her on some technicality. It was the mark of a warrior to know his battles before engaging in them, and Sandor had come to know the laws of Westeros well. The sooner he consummated their union the better, whether she was willing or not. He felt himself harden under his armor, relieved it not only afforded him protection from external attacks.

 

“She has traitorous blood Dog. I trust my best and most accomplished warrior will keep her in line.” Joffrey said, giving Sandor such a cuntish smile he almost laughed right in his King’s face. 

 

“Yes your Grace. She shall submit to me.” Sandor rose carefully from his spot on the Tourney grounds, using his sword for balance. He ripped the white cloak of the King’s guard from his back and handed it to the boy that was squireing for him. 

 

“Then go Dog. I want to see her submissive at the my marriage feast this evening.”

 

Sandor bowed lower than normal, partially because the weight of his armor was taking its toll on his tired body, partially because he wanted to seem more formal. He turned on his heel then, taking his leave of the grounds. Sandor had prepared himself for many a battle over the last two days, but none would be more challenging or more rewarding than the one he would have with a beautiful redhead, a prize more valuable than all the spoils of war he had ever taken.


	2. The Devil You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprised at what has transpired Sansa assesses which of the tournament entries would best suit her. Realizing that sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.

#  Chapter 2: The Devil You Know

 

**Sansa**

 

Sansa nearly choked on a grape as Joffrey announced the prize for winning his Marriage Tournament. Stunned she looked around to see if she had heard correctly, then quickly realized she had, as all eyes had fallen to her. Doing her best to keep her emotions as schooled as possible she turned her eyes to her King, his dark grin making her blood boil.

 

“Oh that’s right,” he continued. “I am such a gracious and generous King I would be happy to share my wedding day with a traitor.” He threw Sansa a glance that made her stomach turn. “To any man who wins this tournament you will be married to her on the spot, you have my word.”

 

The whispers began amongst the crowd at his words and Sansa did her best to look as regal as possible. While outside she was the image of ladylike perfection and noble poise, on the inside she was screaming. Joffrey had done many a thing to her over her years in King’s Landing, but this was beyond humiliation. If a knight or a common man could pay the fee for entry, he could fight in the tournament, there was even a chance she could be married off to a commoner. 

 

Sansa waited patiently for somebody from the small council to speak up, for any of the great houses to oppose this ludicrous act. There was nothing, nobody, not even Lord Baelish dared speak against the King. She turned her eyes to Margaery, who only looked with pity on her friend not speaking up or saying anything to sway her new husband. 

 

Joffrey leaned over, his head close to Sansa’s ear, “Isn’t that what you always wanted my Lady? To marry a gallant knight?” 

 

He waited for her to answer, but when no words came he continued. “I for one hope the Mountain wins. I hear he knows how to treat a woman properly.”

 

Sansa’s stomach churned at the thought, she suddenly had no appetite. It was not a secret in court how Gregor Clegane treated his wives, now all dead. Her eyes moved subconsciously toward him, noting the hungry look in his eyes. All the men were staring at her that way though, a piece of meat on display, an object to conquer. 

 

Tournaments had always been boring to her, full of blood and pain, male physicality on display. She had attended them only for social purposes and because it was her duty, now she had a very different interest in the outcome.  

 

Tension filled the air at the King’s announcement, and for once the tournament grounds were almost completely silent. It was clear the married knights were displeased, but none of them dared to question Joffrey’s decree. There was a flurry of commotion as those knights withdrew from the tournament, leaving several unmarried fighters staring at the dias. 

 

Sansa turned her head to Joffrey but he was busy discussing something with his soon-to-be wife, so she stood up, using all of her inner strength to not fall to pieces. Smoothing the wrinkles of her sleeveless blue silk dress she eyed the competitors.

 

“May the best man win.” She said, eliciting a roar from the men below. With that the tournament was on.

 

There would be some time to pass before the top competitors would be known, so Sansa took this time to calm her tumultuous feelings. Coming to King’s Landing had been all she had dreamt about since she was a child. The capital of Westeros, the King’s court, a beautiful city steeped in tradition it had enveloped everything her childhood fantasies had been. In truth coming here had ended her childhood abruptly. She’d realized many things over her years here, a prisoner of the Lannisters. For one it had become abundantly clear that marriages like her parents’ were not common, in fact they were highly unusual. As a child Sansa had always hoped her parents would make a good match for her, one like that of her parents. To a man with a good status, who was fair and kind. Now she knew this was far from the truth. Women were the means by which to secure land, wealth and armies. They were no better than prized cattle or well pedigreed racing mares. They were expected to live a choreographed existence leaving them feeling empty and unfulfilled, while men ruled, fought and fucked their way around Westeros. 

 

Sansa sighed heavily, closing her eyes just a bit in order to quell her brooding anger. Whatever would happen at the end of these two days, she would take it with all the poise and grace of a woman of her station. She would not bring shame upon the memory of her family. She would be strong, she would be a Stark.

 

_ ‘Perhaps this is a means to my freedom?’  _ she thought, watching the men crash their lances into one another to the joy of the crowd. Highborn men were often obsessed with conforming to certain social standards, perhaps these fighters would be different, more open...

 

As the day came to a close, the top five competitors were announced. Sansa listened with baited breath.

 

“In order of the standings,” announced the tournament coordinator, “Ser Gregor Clegane.”

 

_ ‘Oh Gods help me.’ _ Sansa pleaded.

 

“Ser Meryn Trant”

 

_ ‘I’d rather die.’ _

 

“Ser Osmund Kettleback.”

 

_ ‘No.’ _

 

“Ser Randall Garrus.”

 

_ ‘A Hedge Knight, with no house.’ _

 

“Sandor Clegane.”

 

_ ‘The Hound.’ _

 

Joffrey leered at her once the standings were read, clearly satisfied that he’d made a debacle of her life. True to her promise to herself, Sansa held her head high not giving any indication of how upset she truly was inside. The women on the dias looked at her with pity, not willing or able to change anything that had transpired throughout the day. 

 

It would be difficult to sleep this night, knowing what was about to happen, that her fate would be decided on the next day. Yet again, true to her word, on the second day she wore a beautiful lavender dress, one that accentuated her eyes, brought out the copper color of her hair and that drew attention to her full bosom. 

 

She sat on the edge of her seat as Trant fell to Sandor Clegane, Gregor fell to Kettleback and in turn Kettleback falling to the Hedge Knight. That left only Sandor and the Hedge Knight.  The final battle was decided, it would be a melee with none of the traditional rules of a tournament. Sansa’s stomach had clenched in this moment, not sure which fighter this change of rules would benefit. She did not know the Hedge Knight, didn’t even know from where he hailed, so she hoped that the younger Clegane would win.

 

He had not been so bad to her, rough and unrefined for sure, but never overly mean. Sandor Clegane had saved her during the riots, he had wiped the blood from her lip after beatings. He had done his share of horrible things as well, but never to her. Far from what she had envisioned for herself as her Lord Husband, she held out hope that he would triumph. 

 

_ ‘Better the devil I know than the devil I don’t, _ ’ she had concluded.

 

She watched both men as they readied themselves for the final battle. The Hedge Knight was full of energy, smaller than his opponent and bouncing around in preparation for battle. He must have been in his mid-twenties, not quite twice her age but battle worn to say the least. His armor was in ok condition, bu his sword was sharp. Sansa felt nothing for him, that much was clear. No clench in her heart, no shortness of breath, she literally felt nothing as she watched him prepare himself. He clearly noticed her wandering eye, as he stopped for a moment and blew her a kiss. His lopsided grin doing nothing to sway her heard. She turned her head, not wanting to give off the wrong impression. 

 

Sansa’s gaze then turned to Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Nothing could have been more opposed to the Hedge Knight than him. Sitting in a chair under a shade tree, Clegane drank wine and stretched his arms, relaxing under the cool tree. He seemed not to have a care in the world, nor to be afraid of his opponent, who had showed himself a capable knight. Clegane regarded her with his steel colored eyes as he often did, expressionless. As she met his gaze there was something she couldn’t place, a feeling that churned her insides.

 

The sound of the trumpet shocked her back into reality, it was the beginning of the final event. Both men came into the center ring, Joffrey shrieked in anticipation all the while looking over to see how distressed she was. Sansa’s heart tightened in her chest knowing she would soon have a husband, a marriage of force not of choice. Both men bowed to the King then turning, bowed to her. She cracked a smile and nodded, unable to stand she was so weak in the knees from anticipation.

 

The final trumpet blow signaled the start of the event, the crowd watched the pair transfixed. The Hedge Knight danced around the larger non-knight. Dancing was a bit of a stretch given the weight of his armor, but nonetheless the man moved around Sandor with relative ease. Clegane held his ground, monitoring the overly hyper Hedge Knight but not taking a swing.  The Hedge Knight was teasing his opponent, slashing at him, yelling some kind of insults all with the hope of the larger man lashing out. When Clegane did finally swing his sword, he missed, the smaller man smacking him across the back with the broad end of his sword and laughing.

 

Sansa gripped her dress in both fists as she watched, knowing that the Hound was easily irritated by such play. ‘ _ This could be his undoing. _ ’ She realized

 

Again Clegane swung his sword, and again missed. The Hedge Knight swiped at him this time, hitting his shoulder plate and sending the bigger man a step backwards. 

 

Her heart was sinking, ‘ _ This is not going well.’ _ Sansa realized.

 

It was when the overly energetic, and rather cocky Knight raised his sword for a proper blow that Clegane blocked it with bone chilling accuracy. His movement was so sudden, so fast that the crowd collectively shrieked as steel met steel. Sansa could almost feel the strength of Sandor’s blow from where she sat on the dias. The game was over, the Hound was ready for blood. Sensing the surprise of his opponent and weakness, Clegane moved quickly striking the man three times, sending him stumbling toward the periphery of the ring. 

 

Sansa was on the edge of her seat as the Hedge Knight sprang into action, charging the larger man. Their swords met again, the sound of steel ringing out in the nearly silent Tourney grounds. Sandor tripped the smaller man, driving his other foot into the man’s backside, him falling to the ground. Sandor held his sword out towards the fallen Knight, a clear honorable sign to yield. Dirt flying in the Hound’s face, the Hedge Knight was not so willing to give up so easily. His sword met Sandor’s armor with some blood chilling thumps, Sansa covered her eyes for fear he’d chop off the limb. 

 

Peeking out from her fingers, she was glad to see no blood on the white Tournament sand. Pushed back from his original position, the Hound didn’t seem harmed, just angry. It was unusual to see a man of his size move so quickly, and Sansa gasped as he moved with deadly efficiency. First pushing the Hedge Knight back, having him drop his guard and then bringing his sword down in the very spot on the shoulder of the Knight where no plating was covering his fragile bones, slicing the man transversely across the torso, his body severed nearly in half. 

 

Sansa held her hand to her mouth and turned away as blood covered Sandor Clegane’s blade and armor. It was done, he had defeated his opponent with authority, leaving no question as to who had claim to her. Sansa suddenly remembered some words they had exchanged in the corridor, she knew he loved to kill, that it was the sweetest thing in the world to him. She swallowed as fear took her. All men were killers, this much he had told her and she knew to be true. 

 

_ ‘But can I bring him to my side?’ _ she wondered to herself as the stands began to murmur.  _ ‘Can I tame the most feared warrior in all of Westeros without a weapon?’  _

 

He was older than her, from a different stock all together, the polar opposite of what she stood for...and yet…

 

_ ‘I must pull victory out of the jaws of defeat.’  _ She decided.  _ ‘I will not let him conquer me in the way he expects.’  _

 

It would not be easy to quiet his rage, but she was willing to try. There would always be a use for men like Clegane, cold and efficient killers. To have him on her side would be to ensure her safety in these unsure times. 

 

Sansa Stark silently pulled herself together while she waited patiently for the Septon to say his words, hoping she could form a plan.


	3. A Warming of Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go better as expected when Sandor enters his now shared quarters, intent on claiming his prize.

#  Chapter 3: A Warming of Relations

**Sandor**

 

It was not often that a man like him could change his station in life, but Sandor Clegane had secured himself something beyond his wildest dreams. The second son of a lower house, a woman like Sansa was completely out of reach. It was not just her name and the promise of her lands that would have drawn well qualified suiters to her, but her beauty. Her red hair, blue eyes and milky skin made her unique in Westeros, more beautiful than any man could ever hope to have, especially a monster like him. Sandor had lived with his face his whole life, he knew it was unsightly often doing half of his job for him when it came to the fear and intimidation of opponents. It tended to be a boon for the kind of work he was doing, but with women much less. Even whores did their best to not look at him as he was conducting his business. 

 

In truth he didn’t care about his face, it was what it was and nothing more. Sandor wasn’t unaware of the stares he would get with Sansa on his arm, her beauty overshadowing his ugliness. 

 

_ ‘A beauty paired with a monster.’  _ He laughed at the thought as he rounded the corner to the chambers he would share with her. His armor clinked along the stone floor, announcing his arrival to any who cared to look out their doors. To be fair, he was happy that most were still enjoying the tournament festivities and not in the castle, he wanted to be alone with the object of his desire, he needed her all to himself. 

 

Sandor stood outside the heavy doors of his now shared quarters, and took a breath. He had to suppress the feeling of being a child on his name day and focus on the task at hand. She would be unwilling, scared even. There was no question he would take her as soon as he could, but he would have to work at having her comply to his advances. 

 

_ ‘Perhaps even like them…’ _ Sandor was many things, but he was not his brother. He would not turn into his brother, no matter how much he wanted her. 

 

He thought about knocking.

 

_ ‘Fuck it.’ _ He decided, opening the heavy doors and walking in. 

 

There she was, her lavender dress hugging her feminine form, a look of surprise on her face, a flagon of wine in her hands. Sandor’s breath hitched at the sight of her, she was his and no man could take her from him. There was steam rising from a bathtub that had been brought into the room, he saw it only as he turned to close and bar the door behind him. 

 

“My..my Lord, I..” She was trying to form words but somehow they were getting caught in her throat. 

 

Sandor chuckled at her attempt at speaking, knowing he must look more a fright than usual, covered in dirt, bone and blood.  _ ‘No matter.’ _ He thought.

 

He walked right to her, she trembled at the sight of him as he reached out for her long coppery hair hanging loose around her shoulders, bringing it to his nose. She smelled of lemons, fresh like a clear summer’s day. It was so sweet and nice, Sandor almost didn’t know what to do with himself. He smirked, his behavior had silenced her. When he did finally look into her eyes, he could see her apprehension, a confirmation that she also didn’t know what to do next. 

 

“What are you waiting for girl? Help me out of his armor.” He whispered, as if there were others in the room who should not hear his words. 

 

Sansa nodded, putting the flagon of wine down on a table nearby and moved behind him to start unstrapping his armor. Sandor had taken a gamble on whether she knew what to do or not. Most northern whores he had come across knew their way around a man’s armor, more so than their southern counterparts. He figured it was due to the way they were brought up in the North, he was curious to see if it was the same for their nobility as well. It pleased him to feel her slender fingers make their way between his armor plating, finding the straps that bound them to his massive body and slowly loosening them. 

 

They were divine actually, the way her fingers moved over his muscles, brushing over his tunic and sometimes his bare skin. It was erotic, something he had dreamed of many times before but never truly believed would ever happen to him. As she knelt before him to unstrap his greaves he couldn’t help but stare at her cleavage. Her dress was perfect, showing every curve with the promise of so much more hidden underneath. Sandor must have let a sigh escape his lips, for she looked up at him from her position in front of him, on her knees. It was submissive, he liked that. He took her jaw gently between his thumb and forefinger and looked into her eyes. She was expressionless, but Sandor preferred that to hatred. 

 

He released her chin, allowing her to finish her work. When she rose again, she made a move to remove his tunic but he grabbed her wrist up in his large hand, pulling her almost flush with his chest. Sandor again indulged himself in the smell of her hair, taking a long deep whiff of it before speaking.

 

“Take that nest out of your hair. I want it in the northern style, like when I first laid eyes on you in Winterfell.” 

 

She blinked a few times with the realization of what he had just asked her. Still without a voice, she nodded again, removed her wrist from his grasp and went to a vanity where she sat and proceeded to take down her overly ornate hair style. Her back was to him, but he could still see her expression in the mirror. It was one of amusement and surprise, a far cry from what he had expected.

 

Sandor snorted, then turned to removing his clothing, throwing his tunic over his head and untying his britches. He fumbled with the laces a bit but didn’t need his warrior instincts to know she was watching him from her vantage point in front of the vanity. He rose to his full height, flexing in a display one would expect of  a stallion trying to impress and court a young filly. To his surprise she didn’t blush or turn her head, but kept her eyes on his nearly naked form, a delectable curiosity playing across her eyes.

 

“You see something you like lass?” He cracked a grin, the burned side of his face twitching slightly, his Westerland accent coming out a bit more than he expected. 

 

She swallowed hard and returned to her hair, diverting her eyes from his penetrating gaze. Sandor snorted at her sudden meekness, then continued removing the rest of his sweaty blood soaked garments. He settled into the tub, allowing the warm water to soothe his muscles, his aches and pains slowly announcing themselves. His shoulder would need some days to heal, certainly he would be black and blue there come morning. Sandor smiled, thinking of the Hedge Knight’s end and resmed his bath. The water turned a light pink as he bobbed his head briefly under the water, washing the Hedge Knight’s blood from his body. Sandor tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the tub and pondered his next move. 

 

“You fought so bravely my Lord, I’ve never seen..” She had finally found her voice, but what was coming out of her mouth was nothing but niceties and bullshit.

 

Sandor cut her off, “If there’s to be one rule between us, it’s to stop chirping your courtesies and niceties, they are empty and they mean fuck all to me. If you want to tell me something, then tell it true and tell it straight.” 

 

She was nearer than he had imagined, her hand suddenly reaching for the large sponge and soap on a table near the bathtub. Yet she still said nothing.

 

Sandor looked at her from his position in the bath turning his head over his shoulder, eyeing her with an unstated hungar, “I’m no braver than any other man who fought these days. We all fought so hard and so  _ bravely _ for the same thing…” he paused a moment, to see if she would say something. 

 

Her silence pushed him to continue, “We all fought for the chance to be balls deep in that sweet little cunt of yours, or didn’t you know that?” He grinned at the look on her face, one of slight surprise at his vulgarity.

 

She dipped the soaped sponge in the water and began to wash the Hound’s back, taking a seat on a small stool slightly behind him and to his right. “If you think I don’t know Lord Baelish has a red headed prostitute most of the Lords call by my name, then you are as daft as Joffrey claims you to be.”

 

Sandor barked a laugh at her new found sense of sarcasm, then leaned forward allowing her better access to his masive back. She was allowing her hands to outline every muscle and sinew of his strong back. This was a good thing.

 

“So which Knight did you fancy to win your hand today?” Sandor asked in an almost jovial way, his curiosity burning. “But don’t lie to me, I’ll know if you do.”

 

Sansa moved her sponge over his shoulders, then moved her hands to his head, massaging his scalp. He inhaled deeply allowing his body to relax and his mind to wander.

 

“In truth it wasn’t about who I wanted to win, but about who I didn’t want to win.” She had a firm touch, her fingers massaging his scalp, touching him in a way nobody ever had. 

 

Relaxing despite himself, Sandor settled in, allowing her full reign over his scalp. “Then who didn’t you want to win, little bird?”

 

“Well certainly not your brother.” She started, eliciting a gruff laugh from Sandor. Then she picked up the sponge again, beginning to run it over his chest and upper abs. 

 

Seemingly emboldened by his reaction she continued, a more relaxed tone, “And I couldn’t even imagine washing Trant’s back right now.”

 

Sandor groaned at her words, taking one of her hands in his, then moving it from his chest down between his legs, wrapping her fingers around his engorged length. 

 

“Or wrapping your fingers around Trant’s cock?” He added playfully, enjoying how his move had stretched her body over him from behind. How the tips of her long copper mane dipped into the water, how her chest leaned over him, just within the grasp of his lips. 

 

He kept his hand wrapped around hers, and began to move it up and down, showing her what he wanted. Her breath hitched. 

 

“Let’s never speak of Trant’s cock again, it makes me want to vomit.” She offered, a slight smirk on her face at her own wit. Sandor laughed in approval. 

 

She continued moving her hand over him, while Sandor slid her lavender silk dress over her breasts, exposing her pink stiffened nipples to his mouth. He kissed them, pressing the nipples together and sucking on both at the same time.

 

Sansa flinched at his move, tightening her fingers deliciously around is cock in surprise. “Does my arousal frighten you?” He whispered from between her full breasts. 

 

She paused a long moment, trying to find the words, then she settled on a simple answer, “No.” Sansa continued to run her fingers along his length, “It’s just so….so….big.”

 

A growl formed in Sandor’s throat at her words, this was going much better than expected. 


	4. To Look Upon Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor jostle for position in their newly found relationship.

#  Chapter 4: To Look Upon Your Face

 

**Sansa**

 

It was hard for Sansa to imagine the difference between the man she had come to know from his savagery in battle and the man before her in the bathtub. Sandor Clegane had always been unflinching, a human weapon dangerous and cold. To see a smile across his horrendous face, to hear a laugh come from his large barreled chest, were not things Sansa was used to or had known possible. It was encouraging, it made her smile despite himself. 

 

_ ‘Perhaps I can make this work between us. He’s not so bad.’ _ She was more relieved then. 

 

As their conversation continued, Sansa went to feeling his masculine body with her hands. It was something she had never considered, the strength of his form, the beauty of its muscled edges. His body was hard, all of it, even the parts that were not normally so on a man. Sansa had never seen or felt a man’s erection, though she knew it was possible. It awakened something in her, something in her woman’s place. HIs lips on her breasts made wetness rush to the apex of her thighs without her leave. Sansa was suddenly gripped with the feeling of wanting her hand to move harder and faster over his huge length, but his voice woke her from her musings.

 

“Does my arousal frighten you?” He asked her teasingly. It most certainly did not, quite the opposite to her complete surprise and relief. Sansa had known from the time he won the tournament that she would use her body as a way to bring him to her side, but she had not expected to enjoy it. Not like this. 

 

“No.” Was the only thing she could say, her brain not working properly, so singularly focused on what was in her hand. “It’s just so...so...big.”

 

This seemed to rouse the warrior from his little games and advance his plans. Breaking their embrace he stood, allowing the water and soap to roll off of his chiseled body,  staring at her like an animal on the verge of attack. 

 

Sansa stood, taking a step back to more fully take him in. Sandor was indeed breathtaking, his muscled chest covered in dark hair, which traveled down below his waist to his enormous manhood. Her mouth must have gaped open for quite a while, judging by the amusement on his face. The ruined side of his face pulled into naughty smirk. 

 

“You’re the Warrior in the flesh.” Was all she could say, though it didn’t properly describe her true feelings.

 

He stepped out of the tub and came toward her, taking her by the wrist, bringing her infront of her vanity mirror. Sansa’s back was suddenly against his muscled chest, his hands ripping the back of her gown in half, pushing it and her small clothes down her body all at once. 

 

She cried out in surprise, which only spurred him further. Sandor pressed her naked back to his chest, took her chin in his left hand, turning her head up toward him, and plunged his right hand down her abdomen and between her legs. Sansa had never been touched there before, she yelped at the sudden intrusion of his calloused fingers to the gentle folds of her quim. 

 

“So wet for me.” He muttered into her hair as she looked into the mirror, watching this giant of a man, one of the most feared warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, clutching her possessively to his intimidating form. Worshiping her as if she were a goddess. 

 

That was when it clicked,  _ ‘He loves me.’ _ She realized,  _ ‘He’s always loved me. Perhaps I can learn to love him too.’ _

 

Sansa gripped his forearms then, sighing into his neck and kissing his jawline. He bucked his hips against her backside, pushing his erection tighter against her body. 

 

Without knowing what possessed her, she moved her hands from his forearms to where his cock was pressing into her, behind her back near her buttocks. Coming up on her toes so she could straddle it, Sansa moved his erection so as to keep it between her legs and have it rub against his fingers and her wetness. The great warrior’s moan was more than rewarding. He then began to grip his manhood, his fist resting on a particularly sensitive place above her opening. He began fuck his own hand, still keeping her body pinned to his own. The feeling of his iron cock rubbing her folds, combined with the pleasurable pressure of his fist on her most sensitive area and watching them move together in the mirror made Sansa moan more wantonly than she ever knew she could. She gripped his thighs now, their firmness hurting her fingers. They might as well have been made out of stone, instead of flesh and blood.

 

She could feel his heart beating through his chest, and into the back of her shoulder. The deep rumble in his throat as he growled in complete pleasure, shook her entire body. His utter capitulation to her melted any inhibitions Sansa may have had, allowing her to give in to something primal, something she had never knew she had in her. Sansa closed her eyes, allowing her senses to take control, for once letting her instincts drive her. 

 

Before she knew what was going on, his body was gone from hers, his hand pulling her by the wrist toward the bed they would share together. Sansa nearly tripped over the mess of clothing he had ripped from her body and let pool on the floor at her feet, nearly splling her on the cold stone floor. She regained her footing just in time to be pushed roughly to the bed, her hands catching her, her naked bum bent over toward him. She was naked and exposed to the warrior, only now realizing that he intended to take her this way, from behind rather than face-to-face. 

 

“No.” She said, grabbing his massive hands, which had already taken their place on her hips. She didn’t want her first time to be like that, no matter who she was with. 

 

He didn’t take kindly to her seeming rejection, gripping her hips harder and repositioning her in an animal style position. 

 

“Just wait, just please…” she pleaded, doing her best to fight against the overwhelming strength of her new husband. Sansa kicked and tried to pry his hands free of her, in a vain attempt to turn herself over. 

 

“You’re not backing out of this now.” His words tietered between anger and amusement, Sansa not wanting to push him toward the side of anger, but she continued to fight.

 

“Just let me…” She pleaded. 

 

Now he was getting angry, she could feel it in his bone crushing grip and hear it in his breathing. “I want to see your face when we do it!” she screamed finally exasperated by the situation, stopping their little tussle mid way. 

 

She couldn’t see his face from her current position, but she used the fact that he seemed stunned by her request to turn herself over, her bum now on the bed, leaning back on her arms supporting her weight. 

 

_ ‘He’s surprised.’  _ Were the only words she could think of to describe the look on his face. 

 

It wasn’t anger or frustration, even amusement that marked his normally expressionless face. Sandor’s dark wet hair hung down both sides of his shoulders, he was somewhat bent over her, his face twisted into confusion. 

 

His reaction was oddly touching and even more telling. Taking this moment to sit at her full height, Sansa reached a hand to the burned side of the Hound’s face, guiding it down so that he had to put both his palms and knees on the bed over her. 

 

“Please don’t hide your face from me.” She whispered, her blue eyes searching his grey ones for understanding. 

 

At one time she had cared about looks, found his face too horrible to look upon. However, Sansa’s time in King’s Landing had taught her that the real monsters of men lived within, and she would have him look upon her as he took her, as he claimed his prize. 

 

Sandor kissed her suddenly, it was something she hadn’t expected from a man like him. For all of the force he could put in his fighting, all of the pain he could inflict, his lips were surprisingly gentle, his mouth warm, his beard tickled her lips and chin. She giggled in an almost girlish way as his kiss deepened pressing her head into the feather mattress, her arms instinctively wrapping around his body, pulling him even closer. 

 

She loved the feeling of his body on hers, she decided then. The way his beard scratched against her face, putting her senses on fire. His chest eclipsed hers easily, its rough hair rubbing against her nipples, spurring on her bearly containable arousal. The way he was rubbing his manhood against her slit combined with his kiss and his touch made Sansa dig her nails into his back without willing them to. She was no longer the master of her own body, he had hijacked it, her lips matching his in a passionate kiss, her hips bucking against his, urging him to fill her. 

 

As suddenly as this moment of passion had began, Sandor suddenly rose up on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair, towering over her. He was looking down at her, deciding what he would do next. Anticipation made her tense suddenly, a bit of fear as well. There was no denying his intimidating form, even when they shared a marriage bed. Now she had a better understanding of what  his opponents must feel, seeing this monster of a man towering over them before he ended their life, or willing them to yield on the tournament grounds. It was frighteningly seductive, beautiful the way his muscles moved even when he was just breathing and thinking. 

 

Sansa stared up at him, doing her best to not seem frightened about what was to happen. She had to trust the enormous warrior would not break her in two, hope against the odds that he would show her mercy in a way he was unaccustomed to. He was quick, pulling her by her thighs to the edge of the bed, dropping to the floor on his knees and burying his face between her legs. 

 

She fought him a bit, not knowing or understanding what his intentions were. Sandor didn’t seem to notice her meager attempts at defense or her pleas, but as his tongue began to touch her in her most intimate place she couldn’t help but yield. It was unlike anything she had known or expected.

 

Sansa gasped and arched her back from the bed, squeezing her thighs together as his tongue made circles on her woman’s place. He’d possessed her with his mouth, turned her into a lust filled she-wolf, her body acting of its own accord. Sansa gripped the sheets erratically, yelled words she didn’t know she knew, afraid she would suffocate him as she brought her legs around his head. Hungry for more, demanding more...needing more. 

 

And for the second time that evening, she felt like a goddess.

 


	5. A Prize Claimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of what we've all be waiting for ;-)

#  Chapter 5: A Prize Claimed

**Sandor**

 

“Please don’t hide your face from me.”

 

With these words Sansa had achieved something that the Hedge Knight had only dreamed of, she had caught Sandor completely off guard. He’d stopped everything he was doing at the sound of those words, caught up in the magnitude of what they meant. 

 

He thought he was doing her a favor, thought she’d be able to digest it better if he were behind her. Sandor was no fool, he knew she would imagine somebody else when he was taking her. Of course, in his dreams, he had always hoped she would look into his eyes when he made love to her. That she would scream his name and beg him to give her more. But then she had used those words, and changed his entire perception of the situation.

 

Sansa’s gorgeous blue eyes were looking at him, so innocent and yet so honest. She was looking for him to lead their encounter, unsure what to do next or how to proceed. At her urging Sandor had crawled on top of her, his forearms now one either side of her head, their hips lined up. He hadn’t kissed many women in his lifetime, not for lack of want but more to spare himself the embarrassment of them turning away, or gods forbid, getting sick being in such close proximity to the ruin that was his face. 

 

Sansa, however, seemed to be of a different breed. Whether she feared him or not, there was a gentle firmness in her words, a determination to do this the right way. ‘ _ She deserves better than a whore.’ _ He thought decisively.

 

With that he kissed her. She accepted the invasion of his tongue easily into her mouth, so warm and soft. It was a promise of things to come. She giggled almost girlishly into his lips, it was for him and him alone. Sandor was rather proud of himself, eliciting such an honest response from his newly minted wife. 

 

_ ‘I will cherish you.’  _ He promised himself.  _ ‘For as long as I live.’ _

 

Then he did something he had never tried before, Sandor was suddenly taken by the urge to taste her unblemished cunt. Abruptly taking hold of her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the bed, he dropped to her knees and took his first whiff of her. It was sweet, clean, enticing. Sandor chuckled at the half hearted fight she was putting up, struggling ever so slightly and twisting in his unyielding grasp. 

 

Sandor kissed her there, as he had her mouth. Kissing her soft, folds with small ginger curls, then pushing his tongue tentatively inside. Clearly he was doing something right for her kicking had stopped and it was replaced by the squeezing of his head between her thighs. He chuckled at this, knowing there was no way she could hurt him, but affirming it would be a sweet death if she could. 

 

Slowly making circles with his tongue and passing over her engorged clitoris, Sandor couldn’t help but feel an enormous swelling of pride at the fact that she started yelling out curse words in rapid succession. He picked up the intensity, realizing that she was unknowingly chasing her release. She was so immodestly rubbing herself against his beard and tonge, gripping the sheets then this hair. If there was a heaven, Sandor had, by some mistake, found it. 

 

He took one of his hands and began to stroke himself, while using the other one to hold her writing wild cat body down. Sandor realized then he had never taken his time with a woman quite like this. A whore’s cunt was not for eating, who knew who had been there before and what they had done. So he had always quelled his curiosity on the matter, until now. 

 

“Oh gods, please Sandor…” She was not herself, her voice full of dark lust and reckless abandon.

 

Just as in battle, Sandor found the instinct to be unrelenting strong. It didn’t matter how much his little bird writhed under his tongue, he was not willing to let up before she had had her pleasure. It seemed that would happen soon, which was somewhat of a relief, as his erection was begging to be attended to. Precum forming on his head, he took his thumb and spread it over his aching cock, knowing he would have an excellent release.

 

The bucking of her hips became even more wild and far more erratic than before. As she screamed out, he pulled her hips more flush to his lips, allowing his beard and face to be covered by her sweet thick release. 

 

“Like honey.” He said, loud enough for her to hear. Though she was in no state to make words or even understand what he was saying to her. 

 

Her chest was heaving, her eyes were closed and there was a little smile on her angel’s face. She was tight, he could tell by the way she had flexed around his tongue. Sandor knew he would need to prepare her in order to save her from the more painful part of their coupling, namely his girth and length. For what had been taken from Sandor during his childhood, the gods had gifted him with strength and size, everywhere. His was not the cock for a maid, but to make her his wife in truth he would need to coax her body to accept him, even if in her mind she already had. 

 

Sandor slipped into the bed next to her, guiding her to straddle him then turn around, so her cunt was positioned over his mouth and his cock under hers. Reaching a hand between them he the head of his cock up to her, “This goes both ways girl. Now use your mouth to pleasure me.”

 

She blushed furiously, red covering her cheeks and her chest, but she did it. Wrapping her slender fingers around him and tentatively putting him in her mouth. Kisses became licks, then licks became sucking.

 

“Not so much with the teeth.” He said almost laughing, happy with her first trials but weary of how she planned to use her mouth. 

 

It freed him then to get back to what he wanted. Her position afforded him a glorious look at her lips and her tight little asshole. He gripped her ass, pressing his thumb softly against her tightly puckered hole and waited. A naughty smirk crossed his face when she didn’t flinch, nor seem to notice what he was doing, being singularly concentrated on his cock in front of her. 

 

He moaned as she hit a particularly sensitive spot on the head of his cock, making her pass over it again and again. 

 

Sandor sighed, then resumed his focus on the task at hand. He licked his index finger and gently pressed it inside her swollen pussy. She shivered in arousal as he did it, clenching his finger with her warm wet walls. Moving it in and out of her, he could see she was getting more and more aroused. Cheekily he slipped a second finger in, feeling her moan with is cock in her mouth. 

 

“You’ll be the death of me girl.” He whispered.

 

He stretched his two fingers open in a V shape, doing his best stretch her extremely tight opening. Sandor’s mind suddenly flashed to the thought of how empty this would be if she were not willing, not enjoying their intimacy. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought she would be so wanton and giving, but he was eternally thankful that she was. It stoked his ego, forced him to change his habits and for the first time in his life made him feel like human being worthy of love. No highborn prick deserved her, certainly not Joffrey. By some twist of fate, she was his and wanted to be.

 

Withdrawing his fingers, Sandor motioned she lay on her back. Taking his place between her legs he was amused by how wide she opened them, not that it would help her very much. Though the gesture was more than appreciated. She looked so in love, her pupils dilated, her mouth forming his gentle O shape, a cheeky grin on her lips. Sansa ran her hand through his chest hair, starting at his upper abs and ending at his neck, she was egging him on, asking him what he was waiting for. 

 

Sandor nuzzled her neck, nipping at its nape, as he positioned himself at her entrance. He pushed his hips forward slightly, unable the stifle a moan as his head entered her. 

 

“Gods.” He said into her neck.

 

She was breathing heavily now, suddenly becoming a bit stiff as her body tried, almost in vain, to adjust to him. Sandor pushed further, finding comfort in the fact that she was so wet for him that her body was doing its best to welcome him. 

 

Sansa gripped down on his back, moving her hips against him, pushing him deeper. The result was her pushing him through her maidenhead, the thin membrane never had a chance. Sandor moved in and out of her slowly, everytime burrowing further into her warmth. She was still looking at him, still with a smile on her face despite the discomfort he was sure she was feeling. Sandor nipped at her jawline, rubbed his beard across her neck and shoulder eliciting a moan from his wife. 

 

Her hands began to wander from his back down to his ass, slowly caressing him. It was encouraging, but not as encouraging as her firm pressing of his ass toward her, pushing his cock deeper inside of her. 

 

“Sansa.” He muttered, surprised by her boldness. 

 

He let her push him into her completely, bottoming out with only a finger’s distance between where she ended and his balls began.

 

“You’re mine.” He said, not able to control the emotion in his voice. “You’re mine and nobody can take you away from me.” 


	6. Traitorous Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of what we all want. It's been fun guys, love your comments!

#  **Chapter 6: Traitorous Talk**

 

**Sansa**

 

From the moment he had inched his finger inside of her, Sansa knew he was preparing her for the inevitable. She smiled, now face to face so to speak with Sandor’s manhood, and felt a sense of relief wash over her. She was not completely naive of what went on in a marriage bed, she had spoken with women her age freshly wed, and was aware of the ‘issues’ that could ensue. Sandor seemed to be larger than most men, she could tell by how long it took her to kiss him down his length. 

 

_ ‘How can he be so relentless one moment and so gentle with me the next?’ _ she wondered to herself, moaning as he moved his finger in and out of her wetness. 

 

She began to lick him, tasting him for the first time. He was exactly as she would have imagined, musky and salty, the weight of his penis heavy as she held it upright to allow her mouth better access to it. 

 

“Not so much with the teeth.” He breathed, making Sansa only realize then that she wasn’t opening her mouth wide enough to accommodate him. Redoubling her efforts she opened her jaws so wide it almost hurt, sucking on him as she did so.

 

He loved it, he didn’t have to say anything to show her that he did. His breathing was enough, the whimpers and sighs that escaped his lips reached her ears with a surprising clearness. Then he slipped a second finger into her heat. She moaned then, not wanting to take him out of her mouth, content to have him both in her mouth and in her pussy.

 

Sandor’s manhood began to leak a clear fluid and she tasted it readily, running her tongue over its head. It was thick and salty, it tasted like him and she loved it. She couldn’t get enough of it actually finding that pumping him with her hand and running her tongue over him, made her partner stop what he was doing and moan loudly in pleasure.

 

“You’ll be the death of me girl.” He said to her in a voice so full of arousal she nearly didn’t recognize it. 

 

Somehow Sansa knew she was lucky, knew that most men would not have been like Sandor in this passion filled exchange. 

 

_ ‘But most men dream of dominating everything they see, because deep down they feel inadequate.’ _ These thoughts filled her mind as she felt him stretch her further with his fingers. 

 

_ ‘He is far from inadequate, with no need to prove himself with domination of a woman. Instead he wants to give.’ _

 

Suddenly she felt him move underneath her, his face full of adoration for her as he motioned she lay on her back. Crawling back to the head of the bed Sansa laid on her back, her stomach clenching in anticipation as he positioned himself between them. She was so hot with desire, so ready for him that she noticed herself spreading her legs further in an effort to make sure he knew how ready she was. 

 

Sandor nuzzled the nape of her neck, as if marking her with his scent. It was affectionate and calming. Then he began to press himself inside of her. Sansa gasped silently as he pressed his hardness into her. She did not take her eyes off of him, knowing she would have to endure this the first time, in order to make him her husband in truth. Her body was stretching, doing its best to make space for him.

 

“Gods.” He whispered into her ear, a gruff admission that came out almost as a prayer. 

 

She wanted him so badly, despite the discomfort of this small moment, everything else had been better than she ever could have imagined. It was surprising to Sansa that in such a small time she could feel such an amount of trust for a man that she had barely known before. She had always had this feeling that there would be this kind of awkwardness making love to a new husband. But no, Sandor had seen to it to unlock her passion, make her feel secure in expressing feelings in a way that words could not. Perhaps it was just instinct that she wanted him to fill her, that she needed to give him everything.

 

As if they had a mind of her own, her hands moved from Sandor’s shoulders down his back.  _ ‘Gods he’s so strong.’ _ She mused, convinced she’d never grow tired of his firmness. 

 

Slowly she groaped for his butt, and began to force the mighty warrior to penetrate her further.  _ ‘I’ll never be able to have enough.’ _ She feared, smiling as he filled her to completion, his large cock hard as steel.

 

“Sansa.’ He muttered in her ear.

 

She smiled, she wanted him to be happy with her. Sansa wanted him to be devoted to her, because she was growing ever more fond of him too.

 

“You’re mine.” He said into her neck, “You’re mine and nobody can take you from me.”

 

“Oh Sandor…” she breathed, running her fingers through his hair, forcing him to look at her. 

 

Sansa was emotional, but did her best to spare him that. It wouldn’t do to cry now. “I’m yours. Please Sandor, please....” 

 

There was a hint of naughty in the look she gave him, which amused her because she didn’t quite know what naughty in a sexual relationship was, but she didn’t care. She was relieved he was open, caring and loving...hopeful that he would guide her down the right path. 

 

That was all he needed to elicit an animalistic growl from his throat. Sandor began to move his hips back and forth, creating a low and gentle friction between them. As her own arousal coated him his thrusts became smoother and more pleasurable. 

 

“Move against me.” He ordered softly, running a hand down her ass. 

 

Sansa eagerly did as she was told, moving her hips against him helping him thrust deeper and more often inside of her. She could feel herself getting wetter for him, her body begging him to continue. The firm slapping sound of their coupling filled the room, a sweet sound that made her moan loudly and her nipples tense in pleasure.

 

Wrapping her legs around his hips she found her voice not her own, “More, please please don’t stop!”

 

Ever the obedient lover, Sandor rose to his knees, took her legs from his hips and put them over his shoulders. Then leaning back over her with both fists on either side of her head, he began to pound her relentlessly. She could feel his balls slapping rhythmically against her body as she gripped his forearms unable to be silent. 

 

He loved this, it was easy to tell. Her moans and words made him move faster, press deeper even smile. 

 

_ ‘He has a nice smile.’ _ She realized as he looked down at her, sweat forming on his brow. He was working hard, finding some kind of strength reserve she had not known possible. Suddenly she could feel it, her impending release. It had come almost out of nowhere and was different from the first, it came from deeper inside her body. 

 

Sansa reached up for Sandor’s face and he let her legs go, let them fall back to the bed. Becoming more erratic in his movements he laid his whole on top of her, still thrusting without rest but allowing her more access to his mouth. 

 

His kiss was hungry, all encompassing. She moaned into his lips as her release came, harder than the first time, her walls tensing around him. It was magnificent, indescribable. As she closed her eyes she could see colors, her body floating in a sea of sexual pleasure.

 

Sandor’s release followed soon after, a loud roar coming from his throat, his manhood becoming harder and bigger in one instance, and then spilling his seed into her. Her cunt milked him, hungry for what it was giving her, Sandor kissed her breasts, sucking a nipple as he emptied himself. 

 

They remained coupled for several moments as both she and Sandor came back to themselves. He then, rather reluctantly, removed himself from her warmth and rolled to the side of her, pulling Sansa close and kissing her on the top of her head. 

 

Sansa moved her free hand over his chest, playing with his hair and enjoying the feel of his body. Draping a leg over him, she snuggled close, feeling safe and happy for the first time in a long time. 

 

It was only then that a sudden fear overtook her, “You know I’m a poisoned prize, don’t you?” She whispered.

 

He inhaled deeply, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Our children will inherit the North, they would be a threat to the peace.” She knew what she was doing, Sansa needed to know if he was loyal to Joffrey or loyal to them, to their union. Jon was forming an army, but she could not tell him right away, she needed to know she could trust him. 

 

Sandor took her chin in his hand and made her look at him, “That’s traitorous talk.” He said with little emotion in his words.

 

“I have tratiours blood.” She teased, “It’s the truth.” She continued, looking into his steel eyes. “You’re a splendid tatiction, surly that didn’t escape your thoughts.”

 

It was hard to remain calm when the next words that would come out of his mouth would determine everything. It would decide if she could trust her husband when the time came, whether she could stand by him or if she was lost to him.

 

Sandor seemed to consider something for a moment. “I like to take things as they come, decide once I know what’s before me. Like I always do.”

 

She nodded, not willing to push the conversation further, but feeling a sense of calm at his words. He would not profess his undying love for the North, nor even for his own King. He was not that kind of man, but he was thinking about it and that was what mattered. 

 

Getting up from their bed she moved to her vanity, taking a small container of salve and bringing it back to where Sandor lay. “Get on your stomach.” She said, opening the container. 

 

“What the fuck is that lass?” He asked wrinkling up his nose at the smell.

 

She giggled.

 

“What’s so funny?” Sandor was relaxed, his head tilted to the side.

 

“Your accent.” Sansa began, blushing a little bit as she said so. “It’s so cute. I’ve never heard you use it in court.”

 

Sandor laughed outright, shaking his head. “You like the Westerlander accent? You’re one of the few.”

 

He stared at her a moment, taking in her naked form in front of him. “But if you like it so much I’ll use it with you. Just not in court, I have enough strikes against me without sounding like a bloody peasant.”

 

She crawled on the bed and kissed him with joy. “Now this is something for your muscles, so they relax. It’s a mix of arnica, mint, eucalyptus and such. It’s supposed to help you heal better. 

 

“There’s no need to go fussin’ ower mi lass.” He said, amused when she clearly didn’t understand what he was saying. 

 

“Don’t worry about me.” He offered, translating his dialect into the common tongue. She blushed, flashing him a smile.

 

“Please let me.” She pleaded, using her large blue eyes to perfection.

 

The mountain of a man compiled, a smirk on his face he laid on his stomach, clearly skeptical of her barbaric northern remedies. 

 

Greasing her hands with the salve, Sansa straddled his waist and began to rub his back with all the force she could. It was a gentle force, one that quickly soothed her lover and made him relax under her hands. It was not long after she started that her warrior husband, the man she had been gifted to, fell peacefully asleep.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice little ending to a fun smutty story. Enjoy!

#  Epilogue

**Sansa**

 

**3 months later…**

 

The door to their bedroom burst open and Sansa sat up immediately, pulling a silken sheet to cover her nakedness. It was the dead of night and yet, as her senses began wake up becoming more sensitive to what was going on around her, she knew something was wrong.

 

“Sandor?” She called into the darkness, her eyes not yet adjusted to the dim light of the room.

 

He didn’t have to say anything for her to know it was him, she knew him by scent alone. He carried with him the scent of spices, mixed with the faint smell of fresh dirt that always announced his presence before he came into view. They were uniquely his, and it put her at ease.

 

Sitting on the bed he embraced her, the studs of his armor pushing uncomfortably into her soft skin. “Stannis will be attacking King’s Landing, he’s coming via the Blackwater.”

 

Sansa gasped, as if all the oxygen had just been stolen away from her. Suddenly her mind was alive with a million thoughts, questions and what ifs. But she couldn’t know what his intentions were before she asked him this question, remembering their conversation on traitors only three months ago.

 

“Then you will be in the vanguard my love?” She hoped not, Stannis was not a man to wage war against.

 

A mirthless laugh escaped Sandor’s lips. “Fuck the King.” He spat out, much to her relief. “All I have worth fighting for is right here.”

 

She kissed him again, happy they would not have to argue over things so trivial as staying to protect a King, who deserved to have his life snuffed out.

 

“Quickly get some things together for a trip, we’re getting as far away from this shithole as we can before the Imp burns the bloody place to the ground.”

 

Sansa could sense the fear in his voice, she knew fire was the only thing that could make his courage waiver. Running a finger down his face affectionately she jumped out of bed and ran for the small packet of things she had been storing for just such an occasion. Pulling on some black leather trousers, black tunic, some warm black leather jerkin and a head covering to disguise her hair she came back to him.

 

The confusion etched in his face meant he was processing the fact that she had gotten ready in far less time than it would have taken her to get prepared for a dinner or for court.

 

“You were preparing for this?” There was a proud smirk on his lips.

 

“Traitor’s blood.” She offered, smiling.

 

“That brother of yours, tell me you know where we can meet him.” He stood, taking her by the arm and leading her through the back hallways of the castle. 

 

“If we can make it to White Harbor, I can handle the rest.” She answered him.

 

“You don’t like to make things easy do you?” He leaned in and whispered. She knew White Harbor was far away, but it was in her lands, out of the reach of the Lannisters.

 

Smiling, she squeezed his hand as he lead her out to the stables and picked out the King’s stallion from the bunch. It was a strong horse, one of the few that would be able to keep up with Stranger. Sandor helped her settle into the saddle and got atop his own mount.

 

He pulled his sword from its sheath and turned back to her, “Stay close to me.”

 

She nodded. Sansa couldn’t put her finger on it, but somehow she knew that everything would work out as it was intended. The gods had seen it fit to gift him to her and her to him. She would follow him wherever their journey would lead. As long as they were together, they would be strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everybody who has read this story, commented and left kudos! Sometimes we need a smutty little fic with a believable enough premise to lighten our day and get us in a sexy mood. I hope that's what happened here. Kisses, this fic is now COMPLETE!


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